We stood there, she and I, shivering as our nose hair froze in the February air.
We stood there, she and I, next to the grave of Rick James. One of the last few things worth seeing, up Buffalo way.
We stood there, she and I, simply because my little brother – hoping to grab a photo – had requested that we should.
And she, in her Polish-like ways, was able to convince me to play along, instead of forging ahead with my plan of staying in the heated car. Keeping it “safe” from the no one else that was there at the time.
We stood there, she and I, simply because after all these years, she still places the wishes of her sons above that of her own good common sense. She still loves us more than she does herself.
She’s not just my mom. The woman is a straight-out saint. And I love her.